


Once Upon a Dream

by DemiCatra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Bowtruckles - Freeform, Character Death, Character Development, Death Eaters, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kneazles, M/M, POV Pansy Parkinson, Walburga Black is a grade-A bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiCatra/pseuds/DemiCatra
Summary: Fic written for the Fairest of the Rare's Before the Spring Snaps 2019 Fest!I chose the Maleficent prompt as this plunny for Pansy and Padma wouldn't leave me alone and ended up adapting it somewhat loosely.Two young girls meet in the woods and set into motion a chain of events that neither could fathom.[ON HIATUS, but NOT abandoned! I want to try and finish or nearly finish this story before I post more!](Some tags listed have not yet shown up in-story!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheFairestOfTheRare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFairestOfTheRare/pseuds/TheFairestOfTheRare) in the [BTSS2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BTSS2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> Maleficent — Maleficent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers apply. Anything recognizable belongs to the wonderful JKR. Only the plot and the hell that I put these poor character through is mine. Oh! And I think somni profunda. I'm pretty sure that one is mine, but I'm not 100%. *shrug* It's her sandbox. I'm just here to play.
> 
> Author’s Note: Chhupam chuupai is more or less the name given to the children’s game hide and go seek in India. (If this info is wrong please feel free to tell me, I got this from a Google search!)
> 
> ALSO A MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: this fic does deal with some very difficult themes which include child abuse, dubcon, and rape just to start. I will place warnings at the start of the appropriate chapters for the dubcon and rape. The abuse shows up from Chapter One. As others warnings arise I will address and tag them as necessary. Not every character listed above has been met or mentioned on screen yet. Additionally, if anyone would like to ask that something be tagged that I've missed, you need only message me. <3
> 
> Updated to the beta'd version as of 31 July 2019.
> 
> Additionally: I have a family tree for Pansy and quite a bit of the Sacred 28 that I've been working on for this particular AU I've created. Once it's finished, I'll see about getting a spoiler-free version linked or embedded somehow. If not, I'll add it in at the end once spoilers are no longer an issue!

* * *

 

_16 June 1984_

They were three years old when they met for the first time, one girl literally crashing headlong into the other in the woods near the boundaries of their fathers’ estates. One running from her reality, the raised voices, blunt slaps, and stinging hexes that filled her home; the other pursuing imagination and playtime realities that had been created with her sister. Pansy, who had ended up curled in a heap on the mossy, leaf-strewn floor of the forest, stared across the short distance to the other girl. Her green eyes widened and her salt-streaked cheeks gone pale with fear, were reflected deep within the curious honey coloured eyes of the stranger.

With a quick intake of breath, Pansy brushed her mussed hair from her face and bolted away, scrambling in the fear that any kind of human interaction evoked in her--particularly the unfamiliar. The other child merely tilted her head a bit and giggled before skipping away, Pansy already forgotten as she returned to searching for her sister in their game of _chhupam chuupai._

After that, dreams of citrine eyes plagued Pansy each night, bracketing her usual nightmares with an uncomfortable warmth and an unfamiliar peace. Pansy avoided the woods for a while after that, fearful of the unknown nearly as much as the familiar. But when the raised voices began to follow her out to the refuge she had built amongst the bulrushes, algae, and lily pads of the family pond, just beyond the view of the windows of the manse, she fled once more for the cover that the forest provided. She didn’t encounter the other child again and she soon began to think her just another dream.

 

* * *

 

_23 November 1987_

As she grew older, so too did her magic and Pansy discovered an affinity for her natural surroundings, a connection with the earth and with the flora of the primaeval and uncultivated copse buried deep within the dense woods that sprawled over her father’s lands and into the adjacent property, with the beings that lived within it and the streams that flowed through it. With a mere thought and extension of her will, she could choose to help a budding flower grow and flourish, or heal a small scrape on the palm of a fallen wood nymph. All of this, she could do this just as easily as the grapevines and ivy could, with a little help from her, flow to surround her small form and hide her from those that might follow or seek her out with malicious intent.

Truly, though, any that followed her from her father’s household could be said to have malicious intent and Pansy vowed to hide her newfound abilities from her parents. Not only was she sure to be beaten for her ability to do something her parents could not, they were also bound to screech about how anyone or anything who was not a pureblood witch or wizard was beneath her and that, even if they _were_ a pureblood, then there was still a hierarchy that she needed to consider, as well as multiple other questions: What was their stance during the war? What had their family and friends chosen to do during the war? What House had they been in? The list never ended. Pansy huffed a sigh and skimmed another rock across the water of the serene pool she sat by beneath a trickling waterfall. She watched somewhat apathetically as the ripples cycled out.

She was eight.

She didn’t _care_ about bloody Houses or wars or blood status. She was long sick of raised voices. Tired of bruises that had to be covered with glamours by her mother when they hosted others for dinner parties, or  when they left the confines of their so-called home. She had learned early on to hold her tongue and to accept any blows, hexes, or jinxes that came her way. Dodging didn’t help matters. Ducking or running away only made it worse when it would catch up with her later on, by tenfold. Best to take any punishment meted out at the time and then disappear from sight.

_Out of sight, out of mind_ went the old Muggle saying, she’d heard repeated by those in the nearby village. Something else she’d probably be beaten for knowing of; anything deemed to be primarily Muggle was a no-go in her home, proverbs included. But she was semi-hopeful for her future. Afterall, in just three years’ time she would travel to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to begin her education. _Just another prison,_ part of her mind whispered. _Freedom,_ whispered the other. 

There had been talk of late that she might be shipped off to Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or even the fairly recently established--1963 if she recalled correctly--Escuela de Nuestra Doña Soler down in Catalonia. She scoffed and flopped backwards onto a pile of leaves she had gathered beside the pool. She didn’t want to attend any school other than Hogwarts, especially one named and created for a purported Seer who couldn’t even accurately predict and prevent the events of a civil war that half the free world had seen coming for decades. Even the wizards of Britain-- _Britain_ \--had noticed that there were tensions brewing in Muggle Spain in the 1920s and 30s. Nevertheless, she had a feeling it wouldn’t matter in the end and that her mother would win this battle of wills with her father, as she had so many others in the past. 

One of the bowtruckles that lived in a nearby elm tree crawled onto her chest and then up to her shoulder. Pansy twisted her head and glanced down at it with a slight smile. “Hello, little one,” she said, starting to reach a hand up towards it.

She startled in alarm as she heard the nearby crunching of the autumn leaves underfoot. A _human_ foot by the sounds of it. Pansy tensed, frozen in place, then twisted and folded into the shadows beneath a rocky overcrop, pseudo-hidden in a crevice behind a curtain of hanging moss, praying to any god that might exist that she couldn’t be seen. The hanging moss  partially obscured her but anyone who truly looked in her direction would see her. There was no time to bolt if the other person entered the clearing. A slightly off-key but still pleasant humming could be heard as the footsteps drew nearer and Pansy tried desperately to breathe as quietly as she could. The bowtruckle trilled its confusion at her before settling within her hair to wait out whatever might occur.

Through the draping moss, Pansy could see a girl push gently through the vines hanging at the edge of the clearing. _Why had they let her through!?_  

Pansy knew that the other girl had to be a witch as well, and she was bound to be a powerful one later in life at that. Pansy could practically see the magic flowing just beneath the other girl’s skin, pulsing and swirling, sparking with unfounded curiosity at the ends of her long, silky midnight hair. Blue-black, just like hers. And _oh_ how long it was too. It was just like the kind her mother envied her for ever since she could remember. The hair that her mother used to pull relentlessly as she yanked the brush through it each night before Pansy was deemed “old enough” to do it by herself. But, oh, never let Pansy even think to cry out or whimper in pain, whether then, or now, on the rare occasion her mother deigned to visit her on the pretense of cultivating a “mother-daughter bond”. That would only make her mother angrier and restart the night’s brutal hundred strokes right from the beginning. The kind of hair that Dahlia Parkinson had sheared short in punishment last year when Pansy had upset her by daring to ask if she might play at Draco’s that weekend. The Malfoys were a highly respectable family and good for cultivation, but a _boy_ ? Her? _Alone with him?_ Never. She would _never_ be allowed alone with him at her age. She was a pureblooded young lady and must always be chaperoned when she was with the opposite sex. 

But the similarities between the two girls stopped with their hair. While Pansy already knew she would never grow tall, this girl was already long and willowy, almost wisp-like, even at their young age. Her skin was the color of the caramel candies Pansy’s Uncle Alphard was so fond of sneaking her way when he would visit, and her eyes were a brilliant amber that shone, even from this distance, captivating Pansy to such an extent that she let out a gasp. 

Pansy immediately clamped her mouth tightly shut, her lips turning near-white as she bit them together in anxiety. The other girl turned those citrine eyes in her direction, her humming ceasing abruptly. A slight grin slid across her face, revealing a missing tooth which appeared oddly mundane and near uncanny in the girl’s beatific face. Carefully, ever so slowly, she made her way towards Pansy’s hiding spot. She stopped a few arm lengths away, as if she were giving Pansy a little room to breathe, like one might a cornered deer.

“It’s alright you know. You can come out. I won’t hurt you.”

Pansy trembled and shook her head, forgetting the bowtruckle hiding within her tresses. It chirruped its alarm as it held on with all its strength, trying to avoid being flung into what must have seemed like a great abyss to its widened eyes.

 “Oh! You have one too! Daalee, would you like to come out?” An elderly bowtruckle stuck its head out from one of the pockets in the stranger’s dress and crawled into her proffered hand. “This is Daalee. He’s a bit older than most bowtruckles, but he’s my friend and likes to ride with me when I play in the forest. What’s yours’ name?” 

Pansy gulped and blinked her eyes shut for a few seconds before answering. “I-I’m not sure. I’ve never asked. There’s a family of Kneazles that live nearby though, I know their names. Some of the wood nymphs told me.”

“Oh? My family has two Kneazles but I’ve never met any here in the woods. We have a Crup too. Do you like Crups? My sister named ours Scrappy.” At this the other girl rolled her eyes then resolutely plopped to the forest floor, obviously intending to stay for a while. “Personally, I think Pavlov would have been a much better name for a Crup. Don’t you think? Well, maybe you don’t. You’d have to know who Pavlov is. Do you know who Pavlov is? Most other magical folk don’t and I assume you come from a magical family too, since you’re in these woods and the Muggles rarely come through here. Old wards from our ancestors keep them out most likely. My Dad and Mum don’t really care about Muggles one way or another but from what I’ve heard most of the other families that live around here don’t like them. I’m Padma. Padma Patil. What’s your name?” 

By this point, Pansy’s mind was spinning. Her fear had started to abate somewhat but the confusion! This girl....who was she? Padma Patil apparently _._ And why did she talk so bloody much? Her adrenaline dissipating, Pansy’s knees buckled and she too sank to the floor of the surrounding bosque. “Who in Merlin’s name is Pavlov? Oh!” Her hands jolted upwards at her assumed gaffe and she looked at Padma, eyes beginning to water. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked anything. I shouldn’t have cursed either. Please don’t be mad!”

Padma cocked her head back in the opposite direction it had been leaning, and spoke, her tone gentle. “Why in the name of Rowena’s tits would I give one whit if you curse or not? Neither of our parents are here and my sister certainly isn’t around to tattle on us. She doesn’t like the woods anymore. They’re too dirty for her. Personally, I think they’re fascinating and beautiful. There’s so much that you can learn out here! 

“But...it’s okay. Pavlov was a Muggle scientist. He experimented with dogs. I read about him in our library. And you still haven’t told me your name.” The left side of her mouth quirked upwards, “You _do_ have a name I assume?”

Pansy pulled her hands slowly down from in front of her face but was unable to stop the escape of a lone tear from her right eye. “Of course I have a name.” She wiped away the tear with frustration and heaved a sigh, folding her hands in her lap. The bowtruckle slowly began to emerge from her bobbed hair and move towards her clasped hands. “Pansy….it’s….I’m Pansy Parkinson.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case anyone wonders why Padma's mom has a slight accent despite attending Hogwarts, it's in her backstory. However, I'm not sure if it will ever actually make it INTO this story or not. So just in case you happen to be interested, I'm going to post a brief summary of her history at the the end.
> 
> UPDATED and beta'd as of 3 Aug 2019. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you again to Lunamionny!!

Pansy had surprised herself that day and in the days to come. Or, rather more accurately, Padma had surprised her.

The two girls had sat there beside the gently trickling waterfall and the pool beneath it well into the evening. As a gentle breeze passed them by amongst the autumn foliage, swirling the leaves around them, their crinkling a gentle boon for Pansy’s grated-upon nerves, they talked of any and nearly every subject that came to mind for Padma. And, to Pansy’s surprise, when she was unable to answer some of Padma’s questions--particularly those about her home life--rather than pressing the issue as Draco or his friend Blaise might have, Padma merely moved on to a different topic.

Even more surprising, when a silvery, ephemeral ball of light fell into their clearing and coalesced into the shape of an animal quite like a stoat but noticeably larger (Padma later informed her that it was a mongoose) that spoke with the slightly accented voice of a woman Pansy did not recognize and called Padma home for dinner, she found herself agreeing to meet Padma again in three days’ time.

Three days later, she arrived to find Padma sitting on one of the rocks at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling within the crisp water below. When Pansy brushed aside the vines and ivy and entered the clearing fully, Padma lifted her head and smiled widely at her. Pansy felt her heart stutter a moment at that crooked grin.

At the end of the day she agreed to return every Friday to meet Padma at that spot. Pansy knew, though, that she would be here every day she physically could reach the clearing and even some days she probably shouldn’t.

 

* * *

_25 August 1991_

Inevitably, there came a week when Pansy was unable to go to the clearing, no matter how she had desperately wanted to. It turned out that Skele-Gro only worked so quickly on a broken arm and two broken feet from “sliding down the bannister”. Hogwarts was so close she could practically taste it at this point. It was August and they were supposed to go to Diagon Alley to get her wand soon--her _own_ proper wand! But, when her parents had been discussing the Slytherin Common Room at breakfast that morning, she’d made the mistake of asking what might happen if she ended up a Ravenclaw rather than a Slytherin. 

She and Padma had talked about it more than once by now. They both wanted to be Eagles, just like Padma’s mother had been (Padma’s father had been a Slytherin, like all of Pansy’s family) and they thought that they might both be a good fit for the Eagle’s Nest. 

She should have known better really. Her parents might not have out-right supported the Dark Lord in the First Wizarding War, but Pansy knew what they expected of her even now before school started and in the years that would follow. 

She was meant to perform admirably at Hogwarts where she _would_ be a Slytherin; however, she would not perform so well as to outdo her male peers. _As if, with Crabbe and Goyle in my year! I’ve seen what they’re capable of over at Draco’s. Those two are bound to follow in the shadows of greater witches and wizards, skating by on the train of their robes for all of their lives ._ After she completed her N.E.W.T.S., she would marry Draco Malfoy. Their fathers had practically been working on the marriage contract since their mothers had had their shared Healer perform the charm to determine the sex of the children they were carrying. _Merlin_ , at this point, Pansy was fairly certain that the goblins at Gringotts had even been brought into the matter--a preliminary draft of the betrothal contract filed away in both vaults where it waited impatiently for their Sorting to be signed in by their fathers with a Blood Quill to officially seal the deal.

Pansy bit her tongue to keep from screaming in agony as another series of sharp pins and needles worked their way through the arches of her feet. Merlin’s balls, metatarsals were a bitch to regrow! Taking care with her left arm, she rolled onto her side to whimper into her pillow, then stare out at the night sky and the full moon that had risen there. She  drew her whimper back in nearly as quickly as it escaped, however, when she saw--to her surprise--the window quietly slide upwards to allow an owl-shaped piece of parchment, to fly into her bedroom and land beside her where it unruffled itself. Curious, Pansy began to read the short letter.

_Pans,_

_I hope you’re okay...or well, that you’re as okay as you can be. I know that, since you didn’t show up Friday, Saturday, or today that something is wrong. I won’t ask you to reply and tell me what. I know if you’re found writing a message it’ll only result in punishment for you. No, don’t deny it. We deserve the truth and we both know it. You’ve told me relatively little, but in doing so you’ve told me much over the years. It’s okay. I’ll be there next Friday. You can tell me all about your wand then. I ended up with a Beechwood wand. 10 ⅞ inches, Dragon Heartstring Core, Quite Flexible. I have some guesses for yours based on the lore I’ve read but the only thing I got even CLOSE on mine in guessing was the length!! Should be fun to try._

_See you later this week._

_Pads_

_P.S. I know we won’t be able to do this often, but it’s a cool and simple spell my Mum showed me! We should use it at Hogwarts if we end up in different Houses!_

_P.P.S. Once you’ve finished reading this, it’ll burn itself and the ashes will disappear. Cool, right?!_

No sooner had she finished reading Padma’s final postscript than, true to her words, it burst into flames, the ashes disappearing as if they had never been. Comforted by Padma’s understanding, Pansy was finally able to drift off into a light sleep as the moon began its slow descent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case someone is interested in a little background on the twins' mother: 
> 
> Priya, Parvati and Padma's mom is a second generation immigrant in Britain. Her father, Kiran, was a first generation immigrant who subsequently grew up to become liaison for the Indian Ministry. Because of his career, the family moved back and forth between their estates as their children grew. They were typically in the UK in the summer months and India in the winters/through the rest of the year until his position altered slightly when the girls turned 9 and 7 respectively. Priya has two sisters, one of which her twin, Rani who was Sorted into Slytherin and is currently estranged from the family. Their younger sister, Kamala, became a Hufflepuff and went on to become a Healer later in life. Priya herself is an Unspeakable. When her father's job changed, the family moved permanently into their estate in the UK. Thus, the girls all ended up attending Hogwarts where she met Padma and Parvati's father, Darshan, and the rest is history.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* So...um...not dead? Sorry I've been m.i.a. My original goal for myself was to update this every two weeks. I've since learned that sometimes that might happen...sometimes it might not. Life is unfortunately a thing that happens and when it does it likes to beat us with a stick, no? 
> 
> Chapter 4 should begin with a short scene directly following this chapter and then it's on to the Sorting and First Year!
> 
> However, I can promise to not abandon our girls or this story.  
> There will always be an update coming until we reach the conclusion. <3  
> .  
> All the love to my wonderful Beta Lunamionny. Please go read her works and shower her with love.  
> Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> Chapter 4 is about half finished. However, it's currently midterms/essay/grad school hell here. I'll try to have it up sooner than Ch3!

_1 September 1991, 10:01 A.M._

Pansy gazed in slight trepidation at the scarlet train rumbling idly in front of her. Her parents, to her relief, hadn’t bothered to Floo into the station with her and so she had found herself standing alone on the concrete with a small crowd of witches and wizards of all ages, who were now beginning to gather in order to see the students off for their autumn term. Engine smoke floated above her head, partially obscuring the morning sun. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was honestly just glad that the start of her first year at Hogwarts was finally here. 

She wrapped her left hand around the strap of her messenger bag and gripped her wand more tightly in her right, her knuckles whitening  with the additional pressure. She thought back to when it had chosen her a few days prior in _Ollivander’s_ and ho _w_ its properties had stunned both her and even the wand maker, Mr. Ollivander himself.

 _Her mother thoroughly entranced by the new fabrics and designs that Darla Twilfitt and Aima Tatting had just received in their latest shipment_ , _Pansy had found herself unceremoniously handed their recently purchased cauldron from_ Potage’s, _a bag with enough galleons to purchase the rest of her school supplies, and strict instructions on where to go, in what order, and when to meet her mother at the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron:_ Ollivander’s, Scribbulus Writing Instruments, Alarra’s Apothecary, Flourish and Blott’s. _Return to the_ Leaky Cauldron _by five thirty. It was nearly two fifteen now and Pansy felt wonderfully light with the freedom she had been so uncharacteristically afforded._ _The galleons her mother had given her, in addition to the small cache she had stored away over the years from Uncle Alphard’s visits would allow her the chance to find a few items for her own use. Uncle Alphard never was well-received it seemed and, yet, he persisted in returning nearly every November to see Pansy for both her birthday and the holidays. She hoped to duck into_ Amanuensis Quills _(to find an eagle feather quill she might stash away for Padma), the_ Magical Menagerie _(maybe she could find a familiar and be able to have it shipped directly to Hogwarts so her parents would never know?), and_ Quality Quidditch Supplies _(to find something small for Draco and Blaise this upcoming Yule)._

 _A cursory glance to her peripheral informed her that her mother was now deeply enthralled with a deep-rich sapphire fabric that occasionally saw the Aurora Borealis stretch across its folds as it flowed through her hands before she turned towards Darla, standing anxious just behind her. It appeared her mother wouldn’t be interested in leaving the shop, or soon even be able to move, for_ quite _some time.  Pansy schooled her features into a blank slate and took off down the alley for_ Ollivander’s _._

_When she reached the unpresuming shop with its thin, golden letters peeling away above the facade, she pushed open the worn, dark wooden door and was slightly surprised to find the shop seemingly deserted. To any onlooker, a slight twitching of the muscles in her left cheek would have been the only clue to the bewilderment she felt.  An early afternoon light shone in through the windows, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air, disturbed by the breeze allowed in as she entered the shop. Pansy stood a moment to watch as they seemed to waltz to the tinkle of the bell on the door that had--hopefully--signalled her appearance to the shop’s owner. Reaching up to brush back a strand of hair that was trying to escape the dark headband she had worn that day and resecure it as best she could, Pansy moved over to a stool in a corner of the shop where she could clearly see the door, the windows, and the darkened corridor that disappeared into the back of the shop._

_Small boxes of various hues and tones lined the walls from floor to ceiling, a vacant space here-and-there indicating that someone had purchased the missing wand over the years. She let her eyes roam across the stacks and shelves, searching for a pattern, an organisational system of any sort, whilst always keeping a slight eye out the window. Was it length? Wood type? Core? When each wand was created? She wasn’t sure, but a slight cough and the fall of feet coming up the dark hallway found her eyes turned back in that direction, away from the wands and towards the source of the sounds._

_A short, slightly harried, elderly wizard with wild silvery white hair but not a hint of facial hair appeared from the dark. When his eyes lit upon her, his eyebrows shot up behind his hair and a slight grin crossed his face. Though she had never before met him, Pansy--having heard much about him over her few years and having seen his countenance in the Daily Prophet in the past--knew that he was Garrick Ollivander, the current owner and head wandmaker of the shop._

_“Why Miss Parkinson! Is it that time already? Time does fly all too quickly.” He chuckled. “It seems only yesterday that your parents were in here buying_ their _first wands. And if I recall correctly…. Let’s see, it was chestnut with dragon heartstring, 10¼ inches, brittle for your mother. Spruce with unicorn hair, 9⅓ inches, rigid for your father.  Yes, yes of course.”_

 _He waved his left hand from the direction of a basket that was placed on one of the counters behind him and a magical measuring tape began taking measurements across different sections of her body--both in length and circumference--each seeming wholly random from Pansy’s viewpoint. Nevertheless, she stood stock still and allowed this strange man whom she had never met, yet who obviously knew her and knew her parents--_ which must be such a joy for him _she thought with a bit of revulsion--to continue on his path undeterred. She was vaguely tense but tried to appear entirely calm to any who looked upon her._

_“Hmm. Hmm. Yes. Good. Very interesting,” he said, looking her in the eyes for a brief moment. “Very good.” He quickly turned and snapped his fingers. The tape abruptly curled itself back into a tight circle and floated back to its basket where it rejoined a group of other tools and random items._

_“Let’s see…” Ollivander, moving much more quickly than she had expected, walked over to one of the displays near the door and climbed a ladder that was placed on a track that ran around the perimeter of the room. With a tap of his wand, it sped over to a corner of the shop and Pansy watched as he wordlessly summoned a wand from near the top of the stacks and levitated it down into her waiting hands._

_“Let’s try this one out for size. Holly, unicorn hair. 11 inches even. Slightly yielding.”_

_Reverently, Pansy removed the cover from the box. It gave a slight protesting noise as though it hadn’t been removed in years. Within the inset lay a lightly coloured wand with runes she could not yet decipher etched across its handle, their presence darkened with a slight stain that made them stand out against the surrounding wood. She looked up at the wizard still standing above her on the ladder for his permission before removing the wand and giving it a light wave._

_A jolt of energy that felt right, but at the same time nearly overwhelming, bolted through her; several of the boxes on the other side of the shop flew out of their positions, straight towards them. Pansy gave a slight yelp and curled inward to protect her core, using her hand to cover her head._

_Ollivander, his eyes slightly widened, and with a_ smirk _of all things plastered across his face, flicked his own hornbeam wand in the direction of the boxes, halting their path. “Maybe not that one.”_

_After Pansy had gingerly replaced the wand within the confines of its box, G Ollivander returned it to its position and tapped his ladder once more. It rolled him over to one of the shelves in the middle of the room near the till. Still bearing a smirk, he withdrew another box. “Cedar, phoenix feather. 11 ¾ inches. Slightly yielding.” He sent it down to her._

_Once more, Pansy went through the earlier process. This wand felt much more comfortable in her grasp and goosebumps prickled across her arms as she held it. A few sparks fell from its tip, but when she flicked it toward a lamp in the corner, a nearby vase shattered instead. With rumbling laughter falling from deep in his chest, the wandmaker reobtained the wand but did not return it to its shelf. “I think this one_ might _be yours or that of someone you will be close to, my dear, but not yet. We’ll home it in the lost section for now, but it may yet find a home with another. Hmm, that piques the curiosity, though.”_

_Returning his ladder to its former position, Ollivander seemed lost in thought for a moment as he descended and headed towards the back of the shop. When he first held up a finger, Pansy thought he might be directing her to wait where she stood. A moment later though, he crooked that same finger, indicating that she was to follow him, and led her to a set of stairs near the end of the corridor. She followed as he went down the short flight of steps and lit the sconces along the walls at the bottom._

_Pansy could tell that this was his aforementioned “lost” section, and yet it also appeared to be his workshop and place of experimentation, almost a sort of laboratory. A worktable on the far wall was strewn with wooden shavings whilst drawings and notes were pinned up on the wall above it. Cores and other wand-making detritus were neatly categorized in containers that sat in a stack beside the table. To their left, piles of boxes were stacked tidily along the walls, again with no discernible pattern that Pansy could find. The wizard placed the wand he was carrying in a stack and then removed a box from the very bottom row in the far corner. Looking somewhat hopeful and a bit apprehensive, he carried it back over to her. “English oak. And elm- mixed wood, you see. Phoenix feather. 12 ¾ inches. Unbending.”_

_He brushed a bit of dust from the box. “This wand has been passed down for generations, searching for its next home, biding its time down here. It was an experimentation of Geraint’s, one of my ancestors and the owner of this shop in the Middle Ages.” He handed the box over to Pansy._

_Confused by the presence of two woods being mentioned, without even_ starting _on the brief history that Mr. Ollivander had just given, but not wanting to show it, Pansy accepted the ancient looking box and gently lifted the lid that looked so time-worn it might crumble with nary a glance, but felt sturdy and radiated a sort of protective power that felt welcoming to her. Within, lay the most beautiful wand she had ever seen and right away she felt an instant connection, almost as if there were an invisible string between her heart and this conduit of power. She wondered how she had never noticed its presence before; it felt so natural, felt as if it had always been present._

_Its two woods were equally halved at the grip but they twisted and curled together, spiraling their way upwards and fusing into one piece as they ran towards the tip, quite as if they had come from the same tree. It was embossed with oak and elm leaves; a triskelion was etched on its base, the ends of its three legs shaped like simple leaves. When she held it in her hand, she felt a shiver travel down her spine as green and golden sparks shot from its tip. Looking up into the face of Garrick Ollivander, she saw her own wonder and excitement mirrored in his gaze._

_“That will be seven galleons, Miss Parkinson. I do believe we have found YOUR wand.”_

 

Returning to the present, Pansy focused on boarding the train in front of her. Her trunk floated behind her, enchanted to follow her until she found a compartment whereupon it would lodge itself in the overrack. She worried her bottom lip a bit as she contemplated a variety of questions. _Was Padma already on the train? Probably. Draco, Theo or Blaise? No, probably not Draco. Blaise or Theo, maybe, yes. But not Draco. He had a terrible penchant for being late to everything and she was sure he’d show up only minutes before the train pulled out of the station. Lucius was of the school of thought that purebloods were not subject to the timetables of the common rabble, and events would accommodate themselves to fit with the schedule of the Noble House of Malfoy--if they wanted to arrive five minutes, or even fifteen minutes after the train was scheduled to leave, it would still be waiting. Narcissa preferred to hold tight to schedule and if she were late it were only fashionably so. Though it might seem that Lucius was in charge to the typical third-party, anyone who really knew the family knew that Narcissa would have the final say in this particular instance: they would be on time...if only barely. In tow would be a Draco that was seemingly prim and proper but who was quite nearly vibrating with anticipation._

Pansy rolled her eyes a bit and smirked at the idea of Draco’s antics to come and the witty comments that would likely fall from his lips left and right once he was finally out of his father’s looming shadow. She slipped her hand down the strap of her bag to lightly pet the kneazle kitten hidden within it. She had been a little saddened when she left the menagerie without purchasing a familiar the previous Thursday, but none had seemed to be _the one_. This morning, though, when she had gone to see the forest one last time before she left, one of the adult kneazles from the den near her and Padma’s clearing had appeared from the underbrush. Within its maw, it carried the kitten that the pair had deemed would be hers. Lightly it walked over and deposited it gently within her lap. 

The forest was the one part of her home she would miss after she escaped, but the tortoiseshell curled within the shadows of her bag, would allow her to carry a piece of it with her. She felt beyond honoured that the mated pair had chosen her to bond with one of their offspring and he couldn’t wait to share her with Padma and choose her name. The parents had opted to leave that to Pansy and she wanted to make sure that her familiar had a _good_ name, a _fitting_ name. She just hadn’t figured out what it should be yet, it having only been a  few hours since she had encountered its parents that morning.

Her courage strengthened by the presence of the kitten, she boarded the coach in front of her. She had chosen a car in the back third of the train, hoping to find an empty compartment within it or one of the attached cars..

Pansy found that she was in luck and claimed the first open compartment she found, only the third she had checked. Leaving her trunk behind to stake her claim on the seats, she left in search of Padma. Turning to the right towards the front of the train, she began walking down the narrow aisle, peering into the compartments along the way, searching. She had a feeling that, while Draco and Blaise would want to claim a compartment towards the back of the train as she had if the older students had left any open, Padma would have tended in the opposite direction. _Maybe she would offer to sit with the boys or invite them to her compartment. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to, though, especially if Vincent and Greg were in tow behind Draco._

Even though she kept to her side of the corridor, she still had to stop a few times to partially duck into open doorways or squeeze against the wall to allow older students to pass by her, most of them paying her very little mind. A short, pudgy boy with close-cropped, brown hair and the unmarked robes of a fellow first-year hurried past her, bumping into her shoulder without appearing to notice. A worried look on his face, he continued on his way, muttering under his breath with a groan. 

“Oh, Merlin! Trevor! Trevor, please! Where are you? Gran’s gonna kill me...” 

Quirking an eyebrow after the boy, wondering who or _what_ a “Trevor” might be and where he had gone, but not caring enough to ask or follow, Pansy righted her disheveled robes and then opened her bag to check on her kneazle before continuing her search. Thankfully, she had placed her bag in a secure position in front of her to protect it from harm, after a couple of near mishaps she’d had before her encounter with the boy who had knocked into her. The kit was still comfortably curled up in the sweater she had packed away with it. She raised her speckled head to peer sleepily up at Pansy and yawned widely before promptly returning to sleep again, nose to tail. Satisfied, Pansy turned to knock on the closed door across the hall from her.

No sooner had she raised her hand though, than did the door slide open to reveal a harried, frustrated Padma.


End file.
